


Beautiful Disaster

by katybaggins



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awesome Molly Hooper, Big Brother Mycroft, F/M, Molly Hooper & Mary Morstan Friendship, POV Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-16 03:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11819856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katybaggins/pseuds/katybaggins
Summary: Molly is a med student, and she's working in the  A& E when Mycroft brings in his junkie brother. She knows she shouldn't be attracted to someone with so many serious issues, but he's brilliant and gorgeous.





	Beautiful Disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TribulationPeriwinkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TribulationPeriwinkle/gifts).



> Fics inspired by songs must be my thing, because this one was inspired by "Beautiful Disaster" by Kelly Clarkson :)

When Molly told her best friend, Mary, that she had an internship in the A & E at the Royal London Hospital she immediately cracked a joke. “Be careful, Molly,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t fall in love with any patients or doctors.” Molly laughed herself, but she didn’t take Mary’s warning seriously. How could she possibly fall for somebody in the A & E of all places?

Of course that was before she’d met Sherlock Holmes.

 

* * *

 

However, on that fateful day, she had no warning that anything extraordinary was about to happen. As soon as she came in to the A&E, everything unfolded the way it always did - or as normally as it ever could. Working in the A & E was never boring, for certain, and every day seemed to be different. She’d just finished setting a young girl’s broken arm and started down the hallway, when her supervisor, Dr. Moore, walked toward her. “Molly, please come with me,” she said in a low voice. “We have a priority drug overdose patient and I need your help.”

 Her stomach turned up in knots. She’d never helped a drug overdose patient yet, at least not a priority one and she wasn’t sure how she’d handle it.

 _Trust your training, Molly,_ she told herself. “Right,” she said, trying to sound sure of herself and her abilities as she followed her boss. “How old is the patient? Do we know what they took?”

“He’s twenty-six,” she said. “And yes, we do. His brother, Mycroft, gave us this list.”

Dr. Moore handed her a short slip of paper and Molly’s eyes widened. It was far more cocaine than anyone should ever take. “Good God. Is he conscious?”

“Amazingly enough, yes.”

Dr. Moore was right. That fact stunned her considering all the cocaine he’d taken. It’d rendered most patients unconscious, but not him. Somehow that fact encouraged her for his recovery. “Well, that is positive, right?”

Dr. Moore just sighed heavily. “Ordinarily yes, but this patient, Sherlock’s his name….” She shook her head as if she couldn’t even find the words to describe it. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to experience it for yourself.”

Molly hadn’t the faintest idea what Dr. Moore meant by that, but she still followed her down the hall to one of the A & E rooms. As soon as she caught sight of the patient there, the breath left her lungs.

Because surely this man was the handsomest she’d ever seen. Dark, soft, curly hair, high cheekbones, long eyelashes and the most stunning blue eyes. She felt as though she could drown in those deep pools forever. But then he fixed his gaze on her and all thoughts of attraction flew out of her head.

“You’re twenty-five, you have no siblings though you’ve always wanted them. No close relations, so you consider your one best friend family and your cat a friend. Your father died two years ago. You’re in medical school to be an internist, but what you really want is to be a pathologist. But you won’t pursue it because you’re afraid of what people might say. You are sensitive about the size of your mouth, and I can understand why. Bit small, really…” He narrowed his eyes at her. “And you always think you need to lose three pounds.”

Molly stared at him, wondering how it could possibly be that he could know all of that. Multiple responses flew through her head ranging from “you’re the most brilliant and gorgeous man I’ve ever met” to “how dare you.” But she shook herself out of her stupor and reminded herself to be professional. “My name is Molly Hooper. Dr. Moore and I are here to…”

“....to help me,” he finished, rolling his eyes. “To _fix_ me, I’m sure. I should have added that you have a bit of a savior complex. My mistake.”

A slow burn began in the pit of her stomach. This man might be gorgeous, but she wouldn’t be talked to in such a condescending way.“If by 'fix you' you mean save your life, then fine. I suppose we do,” she said firmly. “And you obviously have a self-destructive streak a mile wide, so be quiet and let me work.”

He stared at her, stunned at her boldness. She surprised herself with her own words, but she didn't regret saying them. She glanced over at Dr. Moore, wondering if her tone displeased her, but her lips twitched in amusement. She breathed in deeply and counted to ten to calm herself before she continued. "Now I'm going to begin by lowering your heart rate and I suggest you cooperate with me." She turned to the Dr. Moore, who held out sodium bicarbonate to her, practically reading her mind. She took the syringe then injected it slowly into his IV. The three of them watched the monitor as his heart rate began to slow just as it should. She glanced at Dr. Moore who nodded approvingly. _What next?_ She thought. She took a moment to decide before she drew blood and took his temperature (which was far too high, as expected), but as soon as she did his eyes began to twitch. His hand also began to drum rhythmically on the bed. She knew exactly what that meant and she sighed. She pulled out another syringe, this time with diazepam. As soon as his eyes caught sight what she held in her hands, he grimaced.

“Are you truly about to inject me with a benzodiazepine?” His tone of voice made it clear that he thought such a course of action was absurd. How he thought that she knew better than she did annoyed her, to say the least.

“For your information, a sedative,” she said, trying not to clench her teeth, “is a standard form of treatment for those who are agitated after a cocaine overdose. Furthermore, _I_ am the medic and _you_ are the patient, so don’t question my professional judgment again.” With that, she inserted the syringe into the IV and she tried not to shove it in him. Diazepam worked within one minute when it was injected in an IV, and thankfully it did with him as well. He stopped twitching, his fingers stopped composing his own song, and his eyelids even began to droop.

When Dr. Moore saw the positive results of the sedative, she caught Molly’s eye, gesturing with her head to leave the room. She did as she asked, yet it occurred to her that she might have been far more short with him than was wise. What if Dr. Moore told her that she was on probation? She couldn't really afford to annoy any employees here, but especially not her supervisor. Why, oh why, had she let her mouth run away with her? Yes, everything she said was true, but that didn't mean she should have said it. “Dr. Moore, I just wanted -....”

Dr. Moore shook her head, and gave her a reassuring smile. “Good work, Molly.”

She could only blink at her supervisor. “What…..?”

“Or perhaps I should have said excellent,” she continued. “You handled a uncooperative patient well. I thought you would, which is why I asked you to help.”

“Thank you,” she said. Relief filled her, followed by pleasure that she’d done well. “You don’t think I was too….harsh?”

Dr. Moore merely gave her a look. “Not with Sherlock Holmes. He didn’t need any coddling, Molly. He needed someone to tell him to….if you don’t mind me saying it, to shut up and cooperate. Which you did.”

Actually Molly usually wasn't the sort of person who did tell people to be quiet, but it had just seemed to.... _pop_ out with Sherlock. “Um….thank you,” she said again. “Should we….Should I go tell his brother that we’ve stabilized him?”

“Yes, please do, Molly. He’s the tall one with the umbrella. You can’t miss him.”

She sighed. She should have known that Dr. Moore would want to do it, but she hoped that Sherlock’s brother would be a little easier to handle. As Dr. Moore said, she couldn’t miss Mycroft and she didn’t. He was the only person in the room that matched the description. Surely he stood at least 6’0 feet tall, but it was his aristocratic bearing that truly set him apart. “Mr. Holmes?” she said politely.

“Yes,” he answered.

She made herself smile. “Hello, I’m Molly Hooper. Dr. Moore and I are helping your brother.”

"How....is he?" 

“We’ve….we’ve managed to stabilize his condition. His heart rate and temperature are within normal limits and we’ve...decreased any agitation.”

“You’ve decreased any agitation,” he repeated. He paused for a moment to think, to process what she’d just said. “Do you mean you’ve sedated him?”

For a moment, she wondered if she’d somehow offended him by her decision. “Um, well, yes. It’s a standard form of treatment when-....”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he said dismissively. “But I don’t think Sherlock would take too kindly to sedation.”

An image of Sherlock's disgusted face when she brought out the syringe filled her mind. “He didn’t,” she said honestly. “But he didn’t have a choice, really.”

Mycroft’s mouth twitched, and it was then that she realized that he was amused. “No, I suppose he didn’t.”

“Would you like to see him?”she asked. If it were her brother, she’d certainly want her sibling there. “I’m sure he would appreciate it.”

“No, Miss Hooper, he would not,” he said firmly. “But yes, I would.”

Though she did not fully understand anything about their relationship, she still took Mycroft back to his brother. When they reached his room, Sherlock remained asleep, and she couldn’t help but think that he seemed peaceful in a way that he didn’t when he was awake. Almost like a little boy. Yet she still saw the slightest hint of sadness there and she wondered why such a look came to his face even in sleep. But then she heard her name being called over the speaker and she knew she had to go. She glanced at Mycroft, to see if he would be all right if she left, and he nodded.

“Go ahead, Miss Hooper. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said softly.

After she left Mycroft, the rest of her shift passed in a blur. Two patients involved in an auto accident consumed most of her time and so she didn’t have a chance to return to Sherlock. When she finished and after she said goodbye to Dr. Moore, she couldn’t help but stop by to see him once more. He still slept, much to her relief. Even though he hadn’t been particularly polite to her, she still found herself oddly drawn to him.

As she walked home, Mary’s words about not falling in love with a patient popped into her head.

 _Too late,_ she thought. Because she was far more attracted to him than she ever should be.

* * *

 

Even after Molly left Sherlock, he remained in her thoughts. Repeatedly she wondered how he was. She wondered why she'd seen sadness on his face while he slept. She wondered if he would even remember her presence. But there was no other way to know if he did than to go to work. So the next day, after her morning class, Molly eagerly reported for her internship. To her surprise Dr. Moore practically hugged her she seemed so happy to see her.

“Oh, thank God, Molly,” she said in relief. “You’re here.”

“Is something...wrong?” she asked hesitantly.

Dr. Moore shook her head. “It’s Sherlock Holmes. Do you know that you’re the only person on staff that he hasn’t practically reduced to tears?”

What was the right response to that? "Um....no?"  
  
"Well, you are. So could you be sure to take over whatever he needs while you’re here? Here’s his chart.” She handed it to her and Molly carefully to it from her. “Thank you, Molly. The whole _wing_ thanks you.”

That certainly was far from encouraging, but Dr. Moore didn’t stay around for her to ask any questions. Molly glanced down at his chart and realized that it was time to check his vitals. So she headed down toward his room, but when she drew closer, voices came from the other side of his door. Though she probably shouldn’t, she stopped and listened.

She heard his brother first. “If I may say so, another overdose is extreme even by your own standards.”

Sherlock's annoyed voice came next. “Go away,” he growled.

Molly knew that his tone would intimidate most people, but certainly it would not faze his brother.

It didn't. “No," Mycroft said firmly. "Not until you tell me the truth about why you let this happen yet again, Sherlock.”

He snorted. “I don’t think you really want to hear that, Mycroft.”

Mycroft let out a low laugh, though it certainly didn't indicate any amusement on his part.“Oh, don’t I?”

Sherlock sighed so loudly that she could hear it through the door. “Fine, if you insist…..” He paused for dramatic effect. “I _know_ , Mycroft.”

“Really," he said flatly. "And what is it that you think you know, Sherlock? Do enlighten me.”

“I know about _her._ ”

“Her? Very impressive, Sherlock. And which her are you referring to?”

“Eurus.”

A long silence followed. Molly had no idea what Sherlock could be talking about. She'd certainly never heard that name before. But was it possible that Mycroft hadn't either? “Eurus?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know who I mean, Mycroft," Sherlock said impatiently. "Stupidity doesn’t suit you. Yes, Eurus. Our younger sister. “

“Eurus." Mycroft repeated her name with a loud sigh. Though Molly didn't know either of them particularly well, she couldn't imagine a positive outcome to this. "You truly do not know of what you speak.”

“No? I know that she exhibited both an intense intelligence but also a deep psychosis from an early age. I know that she locked my childhood best friend Victor in a well and he died. I know that I rewrote the memory as my childhood dog was put down. I know that shortly after she burned our home to the ground and then was sent to an institution. I know that I erased any knowledge of her. I know that you told our parents that she died. But she didn’t, did she? Because I found her residing in Sherrinford. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

As she listened to Sherlock relay all that information, Molly tried not to make a sound. But it was so difficult not to, because she'd never heard anything so horrifying in her life. Did Sherlock's sister truly do all of those atrocities? For a moment, she could understand why he might have started on drugs in the beginning. Of course that didn't mean that she condoned it, yet she felt an overwhelming desire to help him. 

“Very thorough,” said Mycroft. “And I suppose that your response to that news was to inject yourself with far too much cocaine.”

Mycroft did have a point there. She wondered how Sherlock would respond to _that_.

“Don’t pretend to understand me, Mycroft," he said. "For your information, no, I did _not_ get high because of Eurus. I’ve been researching this matter for months once I had the suspicion that there was something about my own family I didn’t know. How that occurred I will not bother to tell you since it isn’t relevant. To find the information I needed, I used a 7.0 percent solution to elevate my thought process.”

To elevate his thought process? Truly? Based on his brilliance when she met him, she doubted he _needed_ anything. If she were his sibling, she wouldn't believe it.

And his brother didn't. “And I assume you accidentally took too much," said Mycroft dryly.

“I don’t care if you believe me or not, Mycroft. But I took one more dose than was wise to enter the MI5 database.”

“You entered MI5,” he repeated. “You mean to say that you hacked it, didn’t you?”

Sherlock’s tone grew belligerent. “What, like it’s hard?”

“Stop it, Sherlock. I don’t care why you got high this time because it’s the third in nine months. That’a new level of self-destructive behavior, even for you. You only have one option for your future now.”

“I am _not_ doing rehab.”

“You are assuming you have a choice in the matter. You don’t.”

“I’m not a child, Mycroft.”

“No? Then stop acting like one, and admit your mistakes. You need rehab.”

_“No.”_

Molly thought it was time to intervene, so she pushed the door open with a fake smile on her face. As soon as they saw her, Mycroft frowned in clear irritation while Sherlock's eyes filled with relief. Most likely, he thought he'd escaped the confrontation with his brother. “Oh, terribly sorry,” she said brightly. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?”

Mycroft opened his mouth, but Sherlock beat him to it. “No, not at all...." He squinted and she assumed that he was reading the name badge pinned to her lapel. "..... _Molly_. I assume you're here to check my vital signs?”

“Yes….,” she answered. Briskly she walked over to him and check his blood pressure (elevated, though she thought that was likely due to his conversation with his brother), pulse (also elevated, which seemed strange to her), respiration, and temperature.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Well?”

“Your temperature and respiration are fine,” she said. “Though your blood pressure and pulse are a little high. We’ll need to keep a close eye on them, unless you have an idea of why…..?”

He stared at her. “My pulse?”

“Yes, your pulse is elevated, so we’ll need to monitor you closely. I’ll be back later.” Actually, she fully intended to overhear the rest of the conversation, so when she left the room she merely pretended to walk away before she waited at the door. She didn't usually eavesdrop, but her curiosity kept her there.

“Interesting, very interesting,” said Mycroft.

“ _What_ is interesting?” 

“Your pulse.”

“What about it?” he said irritably.

“Oh, nothing. I believe I may have another option for you.”

“And what is that?” Sherlock’s voice was flat.

“At first, your only option was inpatient. But now that I have new information I have another: outpatient.”

“And?”

“You make an honest attempt to befriend Miss Hooper.”

Molly’s hand immediately went to her mouth in an attempt not to gasp. She didn't understand why Mycroft had brought her into their conversation.

Sherlock did not either. “And just why would you want me to do that?”

“Because studies have shown that rehab patients do better with a support system, and since you obviously cannot abide me, than we need to find another person. I am merely suggesting Miss Hooper because she is the first person - first _woman_ \- in years whom you haven’t managed to alienate within five minutes.”

Sherlock began to say something, but she didn’t stay to hear it. Instead, she hurried down the hall, wondering exactly what she should do next. Her mind spun, and it was all she could do to walk in a straight line.

Somehow, despite her fogginess, Molly managed to muddle through the rest of her shift. She only saw Sherlock once, when she’d checked his vitals again. His brother wasn’t with him that time, but his pulse was elevated once more though all his other signs were normal. She found that slightly strange, though she did not mention it. He remained fairly civil to her, but she credited it to what Mycroft had said.

When she arrived at her flat, all she wanted to do was curl up in all ball with Toby, but her phone rang. She glanced at it, and read "Mary" on the screen.

Well, she certainly wouldn’t mind talking to her friend. “Hello, Mary.”

"Hello, Molly. You sound terrible. Bad day?"

With Mary sympathetically listening the whole story poured out of her, though she was careful not to tell her friend all of the confidential information she'd overheard. She said just enough to give Mary the general idea, yet when she finished Mary did not responded as she expected.

"His pulse was elevated both times you checked it?" Mary asked.

"Yes....."

"And his brother commented on it?"

Maybe it was her fogginess, but she did not understand why Mary was talking about Sherlock's pulse. "What is your point, Mary?"

"Oh, nothing," she said airily. "So what will you do if he contacts you?"

"I...I don't know," she answered honestly. "He's supposed to be discharged in the next few days, but I should tell him to bugger off if he calls, shouldn't I?"

Mary snorted. "Maybe. But you won't."

"Oh, is that right?" 

"You won't, because you _like_ him. You feel sorry because he’s been through something horrible. So you'll likely find another way to say it."

As always, Mary knew her better than she knew herself. "What would you do?"

"Oh, no, I'm not telling you that. You need to figure out what to do on your own."

As much as she didn't like it, Mary had a point. "I know," she said softly.

"Cheer up, Molly. It will all work out."

With that, Mary changed the subject to other things which Molly appreciated. But even as they spoke, Molly knew that nothing had really been resolved.

She still needed to decided what to do about Sherlock Holmes.

 

* * *

 

 Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, Molly didn’t have to wait long. They released Sherlock two days later, and she thought that if he did decide to call her, it would be shortly thereafter so his brother didn’t force him into inpatient. Surprisingly enough, she did actually see him there before his release and they managed to have a few pleasant conversations. But she still wasn’t sure what to do. It should be easy to tell him to go away, but Mary was right. He _had_ been through something horrible and Mary didn’t even know all of it. But she did, and her heart ached for him every time she thought about what had happened to his best friend. No wonder he had blocked it out of his memory. She would have do the same, she was sure. But was sympathy a good enough reason to let him use her?

She didn’t think so. It couldn’t be. She wasn’t that kind of girl and she never would be. At that moment her mobile rang, and she promptly jumped. Somehow she knew exactly who it would be. “Hello, this is Molly.”

A deep baritone came from the other end of the line. “Hello, Molly. This is Sherlock Holmes. We….we met at the hospital the other day.”

She shut her eyes. Well, that was one way to say that she’d helped save him after he’d overdosed. He made it sound like they’d run into each other in the cafeteria. “I remember.”

“You took such good care of me.” His voice sounded so convincing and suave that she knew she would have believed it if she hadn’t heard him talk to his brother. “I was wondering if you would like to have coffee one day. With me.”

She took a deep breath before she spoke, mustering up all her courage. “No.”

“What?” He didn’t manage to hide his surprise quite well enough.

“No, I will not have coffee with you,” she said.

“Why not?”

 _Why not?_ She didn't even know where to begin, but she heard Mary in her head, telling her to start with the basic truth. “I heard everything you and your brother said, so I know of your little arrangement.”

“Molly-...” he began, surely to try and explain. 

But she didn't want to hear it. “And I’m not...I’m not your get out of inpatient free card, Sherlock. Yes, I would be happy to be your friend because God only knows how much you need one, but I will not be some kind of pawn in your frankly childish feud with your brother.” He said nothing for a moment and she knew he was thinking about what she’d said. “If you truly want to be friends, Sherlock,” she said in a quieter voice. “Then you can come to my flat and tell me. I’m sure you can find it yourself.” She did not wait for his answer before she hung up. She sighed, but she knew without a doubt that she’d done the right thing.

If he wanted to see her, he’d have to seek her out on his own. When he did, _if_ he did, she would be here.

* * *

 

Over the next few days, Molly heard nothing from Sherlock, though she didn’t really expect to. Yet that didn’t mean, in her heart of hearts, that she didn’t want to. She did. She _did_ want him to call her, she wanted him to try and be friends with her. But she didn’t hold out much hope. She’d probably never hear another word from Sherlock again.

So she threw herself into her work, she excelled in her studies, and she saw Mary often. Whenever she did, Mary effused about her new relationship with another doctor, John Watson. Molly truly was happy for her friend, but she sometimes wished that she could find someone herself. But she tried not to dwell on it and instead focused on everything in her life that was good.

One lazy Saturday, she curled up with Toby on her lap, a book in her hand, excited to have a few moments where she could just relax. However, she’d only read one chapter before she heard a knock on the door. She stood up with a sigh to answer it.

To her shock, Sherlock Holmes himself stood there - at her _door_. “H…..Hello, Sherlock,” she managed to say. “You look….you look better.”

She didn’t even have to lie, because he truly did, and God help her, but he was even more beautiful outside the hospital than he’d been in it. His face, though still pale, had more color and he wore a long, dashing coat that made him look like enigma. But the beauty of his eyes and curls remained the same. “What-....” She shouldn’t be confused, yet she was. Was he here because he wanted to be friends?

“Fancy some chips?” he asked her.

Then she understood. Somehow he did. A large smile spread across her face. “I’d like that,” she said softly. She pulled on her coat and followed him onto the street. He didn’t say much, but somehow words weren’t necessary. As they walked she thought about the man walking next to her. She knew he’d been through a lot, she knew others could see him as a walking disaster - beautiful, there was no doubt about that - but still a disaster. But she’d never been one who enjoyed labeling anyone.

She glanced up at him and he smiled faintly at her. The sight warmed her heart and so she smiled back.

And somehow she knew, in her heart of hearts, that he would be okay.

THE END


End file.
